Brittany's Blog of Random Things

Here at Brittany's Blog of Random Things I review books, share poetry, write about writing, and post writing prompts. I encourage everyone to stop by, say hello, subscribe, and maybe even share their own writing in the comments. Can’t wait to hear from you!

Wednesday, June 24, 2015

From my vantage on the street, I see him drive past in his SUV.
And through his window, I spy his new woman with a smile on her face; in the
street light her diamond earrings shine. He never bought me anything.

Monday, June 22, 2015

James wore that bowler hat every single day even through the
hottest days of summer. All the people of Glensville suspected he wore it to
bed as well; it was worn enough, with a couple of holes in the black wool. Each
morning the residents would spot James on his morning walk, part of his strict
daily routine. They could spy him counting his steps on his route on Main
Street; his black hat bobbing along with his lanky stride.

He always started at Jones Pharmacy, where he lived alone above
the shop, and would go about a mile east stopping exactly at the intersection
of Blythe and Main just before the new grocery store and then he would circle
back home.

James never walked past the store. He missed the field that
it once was, with the cows dotting the small slopes and barbed wire fence, the
grasses growing untended around the wooden posts. The field used to mark the
end of town and the beginning of the dairy and soy bean farms lining the gravel
and dirt roads.

Anyone with an iota of sense noticed that as the field was
tilled and leveled and the concrete foundation lain, the less and less that
James met Mr. Parker’s eyes when he passed him on the street.

Mr. Parker had sold the land to commercial interests who
wanted to capitalize on the cars driving on the interstate. Everyone understood
why he sold it; nevertheless, their opinions and misunderstandings spread
around town. All the while, Mr. Parker’s eldest son went in for his treatments
and his hair started to fall.

But to James, Mr. Parker was a bad man. Before she passed
away a couple of months prior, James’s mother repeated many times in her calm
way, “Folks gotta do what they gotta do.” Ms. Bishop always had wise words for
her son, but this time he didn’t listen to her; instead he fell into his grief to
the point that the townsfolk noticed.

He wasn’t as vigilant about his step counting and he
lingered longer at the corner before the grocery store as if he blamed it for
his mother’s death. He started staying in his apartment longer and some days
didn’t even venture out. John and Carol Jenson came by, well-meaning, with pie
and baked manicotti and tried to speak with him. He took the food in his kind,
awkward way, but didn’t say a word during their whole visit; he took to hugging
himself as the couple sat and tried to make conversation until they gave up and
left.

With everyone, there was a growing tension after the grocery
store opened up. The town riled with gossip, but rather than talk in person
they rarely left their homes, preferring to gossip on their cells and
landlines. And with all of the miscommunications and the slights and doubt that
follow all phone interaction, everyone was on edge. Or maybe the agitation
stemmed from the heat and the fear of draught that had struck in August and
September five years in a row. It was already two weeks without a drop of rain
and the fields were already losing their sharp youthful green. The Dram River
was barely a trickle now and looked pitiful in its dried up slopes of its bank.

To make it worse, Lila Stiger, the biggest mouth in the
whole county shimmied her way into everyone’s business more than usual. She now
had more time on her hands than was healthy after selling her one hundred acres.
She had found out that Bill Anders had been philandering with one of his former
students while his wife was away at work. The gossip circulated throughout town
like a hungry fire and soon he was living in the log motel along the interstate.

And then, Mr. Parker’s little five year old girl, Sarah,
went missing. He said to the police that he saw her from his porch playing in
the soy fields just before evening. When Mrs. Parker called her in for dinner, Sarah
didn’t come. They looked and looked on every single acre and went from farm to
farm, but couldn’t find her. She went missing for five days and on the fifth
night, one janitor from the grocery store was taking the garbage out and found lying
in the dumpster little Sarah; her naked body pale blue in the halogen street
lights. Her whole face covered by a worn black bowler hat.

Monday, June 15, 2015

Over the weekend, from 9am Saturday until 9pm Saturday, I wrote 12 poems in 12 hours for the Poetry Half-Marathon. Today, I received my certificate of completion and couldn't be more happy! I can't wait to do it again next year. And if anyone is interested in what the Poetry Marathon is you can check out their website here.

Below I posted one of the poems that I wrote during the marathon. You can check out the rest of my poems on my Wordpress profile here.

Your crags of shadow driven thicker by the morning light;
I never knew so many shades of white, until I saw you;
The glare of your western face in the 6 am orb of sun.
The wrinkles of century old glaciers ribbed with dirt,
And your nose’s highest peak, tallest above all others.
Still, in the summer heat, you contain a million diamonds
And shine more celestial than the brightest, rarest star.

Monday, June 8, 2015

The half-wolf’s brethren howled at the moon’s bounty. He stretched his neck to the sky but stopped; his half-breed bark would shame the moon. He moaned under the shadow of his master’s home and looked into the dark forest wondering what if.

Wednesday, June 3, 2015

It took
science until 1969 to get humanity to the moon; to close the 238,900 mile gap
with rockets and fire. But if you reach out with me, both of our hearts will travel
the distance with three breaths. Mine, yours, ours.

Jess’s disbelief turned into a mean smile. “Oh, I’m crazy? I
saw it with my two eyes and I’ll have new photos next week, too. He does it
every week in the back of his Mercedes in the back of O’Reilly’s parking lot. Every week.”

Amy blinked, “Get out.”

Jess laughs, “Now I see,” She shakes her head. “Shit. You
already knew. What are you still doing here?” She gestures around the house,
“For this, really?”

Amy stands as still as a reed. “And you’re so perfect.”

Jess shakes her head in surrender, “You know what? I’m out.”
She grabs her keys and just as she turns for the door, she picks up the glass
on the counter and looks at it. “I have my answers here.” She lets it go and it
falls.

Amy inhales and rushes forward to catch it but it shatters
and shards scatter everywhere. “Seriously?”

“Right back at ya,” Jess raises her fingers to her lips, “Oops.”

“Fuck you, Jess. You have no right.”

“Yeah, well,” Jess shrugs, playing cool, “At least I know
I’m not the only fucked up one. There’s comfort in that.”

“Get out. Leave. Now. Getoutgetoutgetoutgetoutgetout.” Like
an avalanche, Amy’s scream follows Jess out of the front door and into her beat
up Volvo. She revs her engine, shifts into first and speeds away.

Jess twiddles her fingers on the wheel. She’d never let Amy
know she was shaky from the whole thing. Never. She leans toward her glove box
and flicks it open; sitting in a bed of hair ties, cigarette packs, and pens is
a pistol. She slams the door closed and grips the wheel tight.

Tuesday, May 26, 2015

One is by the bamboo, one by the fallen Douglas fir; the
Russian Blue with the white diamond lies under a single iris. Under forest
canopies through all their years they roamed; deep below the roots, they now rest
their weary paws.